The What if-Scenario Series
by MLaw
Summary: This is a new series address the 'what if ' scenario had something different happened with a character or episode on the original TV series. Each chapter will be a separate story.
1. Sleeping With the Enemy

**_The prompt: 'What if' Angelique were a double-agent?_**

Napoleon Solo gazed at the woman in bed beside him; it was none other than Angelique La Chien, his sometime lover and full time T.H.R.U.S.H. operative.

She was beautiful, smart and deadly and there were times he wondered how the two of them had gotten into this habit of meeting up for a night...or in this case, a weekend of carnal indulgence.

There was instant attraction between them when they first met years agao, and before they knew it they were locked in not a fierce battle of wits, but in possibly one of the greatest kisses Solo had ever experienced.

Once they had segued to a hotel suite, he remembered as she did a slow strip-tease for him, revealing that alabaster white skin, those luscious breasts, and that perfect spot… just waiting for him to slip inside.

As much as he was attracted to this woman, sleeping with the enemy came with risks. He knew that, as did she.

There was always the chance she could be ordered by the Hierarchy to kill him, though he doubted that would happen. Nor did he expect Alexander Waverly to order him to eliminate Angelique.

Both their organizations were well aware of the nocturnal shenanigans going on between their two agents, but it seemed to be tolerated; for what purpose...it wasn't clear at least to Napoleon.

Periodically he and Angelique would let information slip to each other during their pillow talk. It was always false information, with just a tinge of legitimacy...usually something that was old news. It kept the masters happy, they supposed.

Both Napoleon and Angelique would plant bugs on each other as a parting gift after their amorous rendezvous. It did little good as they'd both find the listening devices not long afterwards.

Angelique continually professed her hatred of Solo's partner ad nauseum, though Napoleon would ignore it when she called Illya 'that insipid Russian.' He took note that it seemed not to bother the man, though sometimes he wondered why it didn't.

There were times he would quote Shakespeare to himself, thinking 'the lady doth protest too much' when it came to his Soviet partner.

Given Kuryakin was always in the vicinity, keeping his eye on his partner's back when Napoleon had made his assignations with the T.H.R.U.S.H. femme fatale; it made sense Angelique would complain.

Though he was assured everything was fine by his American partner, Illya thought otherwise and deemed it the prudent thing to do. He simply did not trust a Thrushie, especially someone named ' _the dog,'_ which was the translation of Angelique's surname.

Whether it was hanging out on a street corner to make sure Solo left safely, or eavesdropped from a room nextdoor. The Russian dispassionately bugged their hotel suite, and though it necessitated he listen in on Napoleon and Angelique's ummm, horizontal mambo, he didn't care.

He would listen in on their discussion, checking to see if anything of use might be said in the throes of passion. There never was; the other things, the sounds of their lovemaking he simply ignored.

Napoleon knew when his partner was monitoring them, and it didn't seem to bother him in the least that Illya would be privy to a most personal and private interlude with a woman, though after all it wasn't just any woman.

Angelique no doubt suspected as much, and Napoleon had a feeling she thought of it as a turn on. Though she despised Kuryakin, perhaps the idea of the Russian listening in was her way of rubbing Illya's nose in it...the fact that she had his friend and partner in a most intimate way.

There were rumours about the two men, though she knew them not to be true, but it was for a reason that Solo had no idea.

Napoleon continued watching Angelique as she slept, she looked so peaceful and dare he say...innocent?

He wasn't sure how, but she seemed to know Illya wasn't around, and not listening in on their love making. She was different... more gentle, tender and less like the tigress to whom he'd grown accustomed.

That made him suspicious. How could she have known Illya wasn't around? T.H.R.U.S.H. was good, but not that good, not even Angelique.

Still naked, he slipped from beneath the silken sheets. Silhouetted in the moonlight shining through the sheer curtains, he searched through her purse; strangely something he'd never done before. These many years there'd been a silent truce between them not to invade each other's privacy.

She knew where he lived, worked and she even knew of Solo's family cabin in the Catskills and he was always aware of when she was in town and where she was staying. Angelique was a migratory creature, and didn't have any permanent roots.

Once she showed up at the cabin, paying him a surprise visit, and he scolded her...shooing her away with the promise of oysters and champagne in one of the finer hotels in the city another time. * It was the last time she tried something like that.

But now his intuition was making his skin tingle. Something was definitely up here and it wasn't Napoleon's...well, it wasn't him.

As he rifled through her clutch bag he found nothing at first, that was until he spotted a slip of paper tucked inside a pack of cigarettes...Turkish blend, the kind Illya smoked. He thought that odd as he'd never seen Angelique with that brand.

He removed the tightly folded piece of paper and when he read it, Napoleon discovered a most unexpected message written in Cyrillic.

" _I am away and your rendezvous with Napoleon this time is free of my presence, a gift to you. Inform KGB that that I am not their operative and never will be. Their continued entreaties through you are not appreciated, though I understand you are merely the messenger. I belong to UNCLE. You however, may regret having two masters. Remember, you owe me."_

It was initialled ' _IK.'_

"What the hell?" Napoleon's head turned sharply as he glared back at Angelique. "She was working for the Soviet government as a double agent? Did that mean ...what did that mean? She always had a confrontational relationship, if you could call it a relationship, with Illya, but Kuryakin knowing she was KGB and never said anything. That wasn't good.

Solo questioned if Angelique were merely sleeping with him in order to contact Illya.

Was she truly attracted to him as he was to her? Still she was the enemy, and that added a hell of a lot of excitement to the sex. Could that have blinded him to her duplicity?

"Wait?" Napoleon's mind jumped to the next possibility.

"Did Waverly know of this and was allowing the 'sleeping with the enemy thing' to go on in hopes of gleaning not only T.H.R.U.S.H. intel but KGB information as well?"

The Old Man didn't miss a trick, so why wouldn't he know about this one?

Napoleon carefully returned the note to its hiding place as well as the rest of the contents of Angelique's bag and once done he slowly slipped into bed again beside the platinum blonde.

She rolled over onto her back, still asleep while exposing those magnificent bosoms of hers.

He sighed as his thoughts went to their previous love-making session and he figured what the heck.

No harm, no foul.

Napoleon reached out, fondling one of her breasts as he began nibbling on her neck.

Angelique woke instantly, and reached down to him with her hand below the sheets. "Oh darling, you are incorrigible," she whispered.

"Guilty as charged," he said before kissing her on the lips.

As they made love, Napoleon reminded himself to definitely have that little talk with his partner...just for his own edification.

*ref to "Baby it's cold outside"


	2. Decisions, Decisions

**The prompt: What if Illya only worked in Section VIII?**

"Another one Mr. Solo?" Alexander Waverly's frustration was evident in his tone of voice.

Napoleon held his head up high, not letting his boss's ire get to him.

"And what may I ask was the problem his time?"

"He got on my nerves, and was constantly peering over my shoulder, second guessing me. Honestly Mr. Waverly, the man just couldn't keep up with me and that's a distraction. I feel like I spend much of my time babysitting these agents. Sir this is exactly the reason why I don't need a partner."

The Old Man cleared his throat."Yes, I understand others have trouble matching your skills, but these men are far from incompetent."

"Well something wrong as too many of them have gotten themselves hurt or while trying to…well, do you really want me to slow down? I can get a job done more efficiently on my own. Mr. Waverly I just don't want another partner."

"Young man, I don't give a tinker's damn what you want...you will have a partner."

"Then give me someone intelligent who can operate independently and won't bother me while I work. I need someone who can keep up, bottom line."

"Then take these folders," Waverly sent the table spinning round. "Go through them and you choose this time, but choose wisely as I am not inclined to do this again and that's final. Now dismissed."

Solo gathered up the stack of files, four of them to be precise, and he disappeared to the bullpen to look them over; it was times like this he wished he had his own office.

After getting himself a cup of black coffee from the urn, he sat in a chair over in the corner of the room. There were others present as it was where agents would wait to be called for assignment. There was conversation, some played cards other reading the New York Times. A small television was in the far corner but it was rarely watched.

Most had their own desks in the next room but they were set up like the secretarial pool, row upon row...a little sea of desks with a sea of agents.

Napoleon disliked that uniformity, even though he was the best of the best, he felt like he was just one among dare he say sheep? Not that his fellow agents were that, but they were all part of a flock.

Solo fancied himself more of the black sheep perhaps?

He took a big gulp of his coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in as he was tired. His date with Ramona Murphy was a long and lively one since they ended up back at her apartment for the night.

The woman was a real wildcat in bed, and though he had a wonderfully lustful time with her, his getup and go finally got up and went. He had to be up early to meet with Waverly, so he bid Ramona adieu with a wave and a kiss before the sun had come up.

Napoleon flipped through the first folder, a fellow named Dieter Drumph, out of the West Berlin headquarters. So the Old Man was importing potential partners now?

His eyebrows raised as he looked at the man's credentials. Did well at Survival School, was efficient, organized, maybe too organized and a bit of a goose-stepper. Napoleon blushed at making that comparison as it really wasn't very nice, and leaned towards bias. He really didn't give a hoot about the man being a German, it was his personality that didn't seem like a good fit. Napoleon knew he and Dieter would butt heads from the get go, that was his gut instinct.

The next one was François Merlot...he remembered this guy. They did an assignment together in Paris once. As Napoleon recalled the man was a bit stuck up, and looked down his nose at him because he apparently didn't care for Americans as he found the gauche.

"Excuse me Mr. Solo?" A slightly built blond with shaggy hair stood to the side of his chair. He was wearing wire rimmed glasses and a white lab coat.

"And you are?" Napoleon looked up.

"Kuryakin, Section VIII. I have something for you to look at as I was told you were lead agent in Section II."

"That's right, now what can I do you for?"

"Beg pardon?"

Napoleon clicked his tongue. He'd heard about this guy...a real egghead sent to UNCLE by the Kremlin. Waverly wanted someone he could put in the field but this one ended up being so talented in the labs, that he ended up being kept there. This guy as a field agent? He looked like a good gust of wind would knock him over.

"What can I do for you?" Napoleon rephrased the question.

"Oh, not what you can do for me, but rather what I can do for you." He held up a silver pen. "This is a prototype of new communications device that I have been working on and if it performs well then it will replace the cumbersome cigarette case that field agents use."

"Really," Napoleon's lower lip protruded as he took the device in his hand. "Nice, lightweight."

He took note of the man's accent, thinking it had been a good idea to keep him out of the field as once he opened his mouth, it would be obvious he was a Russian, yet in an odd way he sounded a bit British as well."

"Thank you Mr. Solo, in addition to being a communicator, it can also be used as a tracking device to home in on signal from homing disc. In secret compartment within cap there is small opening where capsule B can be stored. This communicator also has an option of turning off the audio signal when silence is needed and in its place there is slight vibration to alert an agent to an incoming call. Oh, and it is also a working writing implement."

"Nice, very nice. What did you say your name was again?"

"Illya Kuryakin sir. Please, I do ask that you be careful with it as it is a prototype. It can interact with the standard communicator and I do not anticipate any issues, but of course you will let me know if there are any problems with it in the field? I would suggest you still carry your cigarette case if in the event of a malfunction, but I do not believe anything going wrong."

" _Well_ _spasibo tovarisch Kuryakin._ "Napoleon nodded. "Scout's honor I'll take good care of your baby."

"Baby? I do not have baby. I am not married, sir."

"Tsk. It just means that I'll take care of your prototype."

"Oh, well...you could have said that in first place. I will take it as honest promise Mr. Solo and just a suggestion; you need to work on your Russian accent. No one would ever take you for a native speaker. Good day, oh if you have any further questions I will be in Commissary."

The man turned and left Napoleon to his task.

Solo picked up the next folder and looked at it…

"What the hell? The name on it was Illya Kuryakin.

He thumbed through it, his eyebrows cocked in surprise.

Kuryakin was ex-Soviet Military Intelligence. He aced Survival School, even breaking a number of Napoleon's records. He'd gone straight from Moscow to be stationed for three years in London under Harry Beldon before being transferred to New York.

The guy was more than proficient with a gun, explosives expert, spoke dozens of languages fluently, and in his previous assignment he was known for being one of the best second story men around. The list of his abilities went on and on, as well as his accomplishments while working in the labs.

So why wasn't he put straight into the field? Something didn't seem right.

As he read on regarding Kuryakin's psych analysis, a red flag went up.

"Bingo," Napoleon whispered.

"Has social issues and doesn't work well with others, prefers to work on his own. That sounds familiar. I did ask for someone intelligent who could work independently, but I think a screwy science geek is carrying things a bit too far and he has problems with understanding simple idioms too." That thought made Napoleon chuckle. What would he have to do, stop to explain everything to this guy?

He tossed aside the folder, going onto the next. "I'd have to be desperate to go with this one too and that one was tossed as well." Seemed Waverly was giving him nothing but foreigners to choose from; he supposed it made sense as all his other partners had been Americans.

As Napoleon glanced through all the folders one last time, but realized none of these men were his cup of tea.

Waverly was going to have to decide after all. Whoever the Old Man picked probably wouldn't last, just like all the others.

Napoleon sipped the remainder of his coffee, feeling self assured he'd remain simply 'solo.'


	3. Yes sir, Mr Kuryakin

**The prompt: What If... Illya was CEO and Napoleon the new recruit?**

 **.**

He'd heard a lot about this guy. Outstanding performance at Survival School, setting quite a few nearly unbreakable records, but not all; Napoleon Solo smiled to himself.

Solo had broken or matched enough of them to make Alexander Waverly to sit up and take notice, and now here he was finally at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York city. It was where the creme de la creme of field agents were assigned.

After being stationed for a very brief stint in the London office, he'd finally 'arrived.' He was exactly where he wanted to be and thankfully so, as he couldn't have take much more of Harry Beldon. He wondered how the hell the man was able to function as a successful spy, given his hedonistic and not very covert habits.

Not that Napoleon had any problems with Beldon and his beautiful ladies, but he was so indiscreet about it all.

There were other options besides London, like Paris or East Berlin, although Paris with all the mademoiselles had its appeal; New York was the place to be.

Having completed his orientation, New York's newest recruit was now scheduled to meet with his CEA, the Russian or more correctly the Soviet agent, Illya Kuryakin.

Seems that Mr. Waverly had agreed to accept this man Kuryakin as a field agent when the Soviet Union became a member nation of U.N.C.L.E. and the man quickly worked his way up the ladder to the position Chief Enforcement Agent. There was talk of him being the heir apparent to Mr. Waverly's position of Continental Chief, whenever the day came that he retired.

Being a red blooded American Napoleon thought that a bit risky having a former Soviet spy in such a position of power... who knew if this Kuryakin fellow was a double agent or not? Still he was sure UNCLE'S vetting process was thorough, and who was he to judge this Russky before he met him?

Napoleon reminded himself not to even contemplate using that term ever again, as one thing he'd heard about Illya Kuryakin was that he was a no nonsense sort of guy and a real hard nose.

Word was that he was a stickler for details as he was a bit of an egghead and even spent time in the labs of Section VIII; that was a place in which Napoleon had no interest in being. Still, the Russian had Section II running like a well oiled machine. Fear was the operative word Napoleon heard the most. Kuryakin was apparently one scary guy. He even had a nickname, the Ice Prince, still that all remained to be seen; rumors and reality were two different things.

Napoleon arrived at the CEA's office a few minutes late in spite of his best efforts to be on time. Unfortunately there were just too many darned pretty women working here, as there had been in London as well.

Napoleon, exuded charm and even when he wasn't trying, the ladies seemed to just flock to him and he to them. Oh yeah, he was going to enjoy being stationed here for sure.

The pneumatic doors to Kuryakin's office opened with a quiet whoosh, allowing Solo to step inside. It was surprisingly small, filled with shelves loaded with books and files.

There in front of Napoleon, sans his suit jacket, stood a slightly built, shaggy haired blond.

He wasn't wearing a tie and the top two buttons of his white shirt (that looked like it needed a good pressing) were open. He didn't look in the least bit scary, and seemed a bit on the small side.

Without looking up, Kuryakin spoke quite directly.

"In the future you will be be on time for your scheduled meetings. I know that Mr. Beldon's lackadaisical methods were acceptable in London, but here they are not in New York. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir, and I apologize for my tardiness."

Finally a pair of icy blue eyes looked up at him, and gave Napoleon a case of the shivers. No one had ever done that to him before.

"I do not want apologies, I want you to be on time, see that it does not happen again; think of it as a warning not for my sake but for that of Mr. Waverly. He expects his agents here to behave in a professional manner at all times. Now let us get to work."

"You have an assignment for me?" Napoleon smiled in anticipation.

That smile caught Kuryakin's attention, and he suddenly had a feeling he was going to like this Solo. He of course had read his file; the man was good, a little unorthodox and improvisational, but still an agent with excellent potential. He's heard the term Boy Scout mentioned in regards to this one, and that he seemed to exude eternal optimism. Nothing wrong with a positive attitude, still it remained to be seen how good a fit he would be here in New York.

"An assignment? No. I have just finished my weekly report summaries that need to be sorted and filed. They are in triplicate. The original white copy is Mr. Waverly's. The golden rod is mine and the blue goes to File 40."

"Isn't that a job for one of the clericals?"

"Generally it is, but I want you to become familiar with our system here as it is quite well organized if I say so myself, and far superior to what goes on in London. Read the reports, see how they are composed so you know how to do write yours correctly, as well as how to file them. The agent field reports are identical and should be disbersed the same way as well as written in a timely when returning from an assignment."

Kuryakin handed him the first copy.

"It's typed?"Napoleon blurted out."Am I supposed to type my reports?"

"Mr. Solo, unless you have perfect penmanship, then typing is my preferred method. The secretaries can handle that for you as long as your notes are written legibly enough for the ladies to read them. I caution you, not to take advantage of their services as they have enough work to do already."

"Yes sir Mr. Kuryakin." Napoleon wasn't feeling very happy at this point. This guy was making it sound more like a job than an adventure...which is a word that was used when he was recruited to U.N.C.L.E.

Napoleon took a chance to ease the tension. "Please, call me Napoleon?"

The Russian's eyes met Solo's and for a brief moment the man's stoic demeanor softened.

"Why of course...Napoleon. No agent has been so audacious as to ask such a thing of me' you may call me Illya if you like."

"Yes sir, I mean Illya. Say, do you like Chinese food?"

"Yes I do, why do you ask?"

"Oh I was going to have lunch this afternoon at 'Chang's.' I hear it's pretty good and not far from headquarters; I was wondering if you'd care to join me? You could acquaint me with the inner workings here in order to ...optimize my performance as an agent."

Kuryakin actually broke a small, crooked smile. This man was a bold one, and he found himself liking that. Yet for a brief second Illya felt uncomfortable that this man seemed to have discovered his one weakness and that was food.

Solo wasn't here long enough to know that, so he was sure it had to be by sheer chance.

The man had a reputation for being quite amiable, especially with the ladies. Which was something that would have to be curtailed.

"Napoleon, I think I would like that very much. Chinese is far superior to the food they serve here in the Commissary. I am familiar with Chang's and the menu there is quite good."

Illya was again impressed as none of the other Section II agents had ever invited him out like this, not that he was here to make friends, but it was a nice and welcome change to his solitary existence.

Such a life was his own doing, as he chose not to fraternize with the other employees. His first handler while he was a junior agent with GRU once told him, 'the less people know about you, the longer you will leave.'

That became his Cardinal rule, his mantra as it were; still having lunch with Solo would give him an opportunity to get to know his newest agent.

Kuryakin mostly occupied himself in the labs, where Mr. Waverly permitted him to indulge his scientific curiosity. He'd spend his free time listening to his collection of jazz records, or going to some of the jazz clubs in Greenwich Village. That was his life as an agent for the U.N.C.L.E. and he was fine with it.

As he looked across to Solo who had his nose buried in the reports, he had a feeling this fellow just might do well here…


	4. Shot gun wedding

Prompt - In the Concrete Overcoat Affair, What if Pia and Napoleon had actually gotten married?

It all started when...well Napoleon at the moment couldn't exactly remember where it all began. Oh yes, when he hid under the bed in Pia Monteri's bedroom, and then her grandmother discovered him.

The girl was merely helping him when he was in trouble trying to escape from some Thrushies, and now here he was getting married to her. His presence in her boudoire had apparently sullied her reputation in the eyes of her family, even though nothing at all happened. That didn't matter as no one would believe him, or Pia for that matter.

Now Napoleon, UNCLE agent extrodinaire, stood facing the girl who was dressed in a white wedding gown and veil, as well as a priest. Pia's grandmother had a shotgun in her hands and was aiming at her future grandson-in-law.

He couldn't believe it; he was getting married? There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. What could he do? He was unarmed and surrounded by Pia's entire family who were definitely packing guns.

Solo turned to the girl's Uncle, 'Fingers; Stilletto, as they prepared for the marriage vows, and flat out lied to the man.

"I'm not Italian, you know." Not that he really thought it would help, but it was worth the try.

Fingers smiled, "It's all right, you look to be proud anyway."

The brief ceremony was over, though Napoleon mumbled his 'I do.' He couldn't refuse as those double shotgun barrels were shoved in the middle of his back.

There was no kiss sealing the deal so to speak. Napoleon had to admit, Pia was attractive and very kissable. Under the right circumstances and minus the wedding, he wouldn't have minded getting to know her a bit better.

Strago and his men suddenly appeared, disrupting the whole affair, though Solo wistfully wondered why the Thrushman and his lackeys couldn't have shown up ten minutes earlier?

The usual fracas ensued, and now Napoleon found himself in another pickle. Strago had taken Pia, and apparently had Illya as well.

"How the hell do these things happen?" He practically swore to himself. Waverly was going to love this one."

Upon his return to headquarters and as expected, Waverly was clearly annoyed at the situation.

"How the devil did you get yourself married?"

"Sir it was a matter of honor for the girl. She'd helped me hide from THRUSH by letting me stay in her room . Absolutely nothing happened but her family insisted her reputation had been ruined and I had to marry her or...be killed. It was literally a shotgun wedding, I swear."

"I never will understand how you get yourself into these sort of predicaments young man. As I have said in the past, a woman will be the death of you someday."

"I repeat sir, I did nothing to the girl, and now she needs rescuing, and Mr. Kuryakin as well."

Waverly adamantly opposed Solo's intentions to rescue the pair, but Napoleon wouldn't back down. That's when Waverly laid the bad news on his agent.

"Strago has moved his main base of operations to his island in the Caribbean. As it's vital to stop him before he launches his undersea missiles to divert the Gulf Stream, U.N.C.L.E. will mount an airstrike in sixteen hours and reduce the island to rubble."

"Sir, you can't do that. I'm sure Strago is holding Mr. Kuryakin prisoner there."

"Mr. Solo you know very well that I send off my agents to their possible death in the service of U.N.C.L.E. on a daily basis. Mr. Kuryakin knows this as well. I'm sorry."

"But what about Pia? She's an innocent civilian and she'll die as well, because of me. I will not allow that to happen."

Standing up beside the conference table, Napoleon withdrew his UNCLE credentials, and calmly placed them and his gun on it.

"Then I quit Mr. Waverly. I'm not going to let her suffer because of me, whether you like it or not, I'm going to rescue her and Illya!"

Napoleon turned to leave but the Old Man stopped him.

'Wait Mr. Solo. Very well, if you're that determined I will allow it, but remember you have sixteen hours."

Solo gathered his belongings. "Thank you."

As his agent left Waverly chastised himself for giving in to Solo, " Hmmm, sentimental grandmother of the year!"

The Stiletto brothers, Pia's Mafia Uncles and now Napoleon's famiglia by marriage didn't hesitate to jump into the fray to help rescue their niece. Though they were in their 60's and 70's they had the mindset, and skills of old time mobsters and were a pretty tough group of men, and a bit scary too.

Lacking any other sort of help, they'd have to do. Napoleon's mission was to deal with Strago and THRUSH. He had to prioritize but he wasn't about to put off the rescue. He only hoped both Pia and Illya were still alive.

As usual Napoleon was flying by the seat of his pants on this one, and with the Stiletto's help he managed to find his weakened partner, and Strago's murderous assistant Miss Diketon who had switched sides. Still they had to locate Pia and stop THRUSH before they were all blown to smithereens by U.N.C.L.E.

Illya's summary of their rag-tag group was priceless…"I bring Lucrezia Borgia, and you bring the Mafia. We are in great shape."

Granted Miss Diketon's motivations for changing sides were a bit dicey. Considering the brutal treatment she'd inflicted upon Kuryakin, she was lucky he just didn't kill her. Still recusing Pia was important, but stopping Strago's plan was a priority. She was looking out for herself, saving her own neck. Having been told she was being transferred, she suspected she was going to be killed instead. As good and loyal she'd been to Mr. Strago, he didn't appreciate her and her talents at all. He wanted to get rid of her permanently and spurned her obvious affections for him. She wanted revenge and she was going to get it, even if she had to help the U.N.C.L.E. agents to do it.

Illya couldn't quite figure out her attraction to the man, and his final conclusion was that Miss Diketon was quite mad.

Strago was an odd egotistical bundle of twitching neuroses and anxieties and wanted nothing to do with her. He was seemingly nauseated by Miss Diketon's attentions, yet he was infatuated with Pia.

All Kuryakin could do was put aside his own murderous feelings against Miss Diketon and let her do what she wanted to do, within reason of course. In the end, she died as did Strago and rather shockingly.

So all's well that ended well. Pia was saved, THRUSH was stopped.

The agents winged their way back to headquarters. Illya slept most of the way as he was physically and mentally exhausted from his torturous ordeal at the hands of the late Miss Diketon, as well as his underwater exploits that helped save the day...though he was nearly killed again.

Once they arrived, Kuryakin was hurried off to the Medical suite for a checkup and would be put through a psych evaluation later in the day. With the Russian in such a state of exhaustion, he uttered not one word of protest against it. That told Napoleon how badly his partner was really feeling.

Solo was now seated at the conference table once again, facing Alexander Waverly.

"I must say Mr. Solo, it was a job well done but in the future do not test me again by threatening to leave U.N.C.L.E. You are one of my most valuable assets, and admittedly so is Mr. Kuryakin, but you are also both expendable. You knew that when you joined the organization. I take no pleasure in sending my agents out into life threatening situations...Napoleon. Though I seem as though I don't care, I do. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes sir I do." Napoleon never thought of the emotional stress the Old Man must endure knowing his orders could result in the death of his people; agents he'd hand picked to work for him here in New York.

"Now as to the matter of your marriage to Miss Monteri. It has been officially annulled. So that matter has been resolved. A letter of apology for getting her involved has been sent. As compensation we are setting her up in her own business, a pizzeria as it were. Official letters of commendation are also being issued to the Stilletto brothers for their invaluable assistance in thwarting yet another THRUSH plot to rule the world."

It was a relief to Napoleon that the marriage to Pia no longer existed, but for one wistful moment he wondered what it would be like to have been truly married, to have a family and a real life. Who was he kidding, U.N.C.L.E. would never permit it. He'd already lost two women to the likes of the Command, his Clara and Joanna Winthrop.* Better he didn't think about Pia. He liked her, but there wasn't love there.

Maybe someday he'd get married and have that family, that was if he lived long enough to reach retirement. He had to put that thought out of his head. It was time to head up to Medical and check on his partner.

As he neared Illya's room, a bed pan came flying out the door.

Napoleon grinned; his partner was feeling himself again.

.

.

* reference to the Terbuf Affair and my story "Only Love Can Break your heart"


	5. Only in LA

**The prompt: "What if UNCLE HQ was in Los Angeles?"**

 **.**

Located on Hollywood boulevard, behind the doors of the Academy movie theatre in Los Angeles was the secret entrance to the United Network Command for Law and enforcement.

Movie goers had no idea the private elevator, bearing the sign "Employees only" led to the entrance of this clandestine organiztion. The only time this entrance into headquarters wasn't used was when the theatre was closed, usually after the midnight show.

That required the returning field agents to use an entrance located in a private parking garage belonging to the organization in the rear of the building. Not open to the general public, no one ever seemed to pay attention to it.

Once through the rear entrance, agents would have to navigate a series of tunnels until they arrived inside headquarters which actually took up most of the city block. There were false businesses lining that side of the street; a candy shop, a dry cleaner, a stationary store, all whose back rooms were non-existent except for some small storage space for their products.

A well tanned Solo and a slightly pink Kuryakin, each wearing sunglasses, pastel polo shirts and casual trousers stepped into the theatre. Napoleon was sporting a white sweater draped across his shoulders with the sleeves tied about his neck, while the Russian donned a light colored sports jacket.

There was no need to buy tickets as UNCLE personnel manned the ticket booth, concession stand, as well as masquerading as uniformed ushers, with small flashlights in their hands and guns under their jackets.

Solo and Kuryakin were well known to the staff, and the agent manning the concession stand merely pressed a button, opening the elevator doors for them.

Napoleon saluted him as the doors closed after them.

These theatre agents had double duty as they were preparing to start an early showing of the newest release, an epic war film called 'The Great Escape.'

The doors of the elevator opened at agent reception, and there Napoleon and Illya received their gold ID badges.

A new female receptionist sitting at the desk pinned on Solo's, as she had no doubt been instructed to do so by the other ladies, and she received a flirtatious smile in return from Napoleon.

"Hi there, and you are?"

"Pamela Mr. Solo."

"Pam. May I call you that?"

"Honey you can call me anytime...I mean yes Pam is fine." She was practically swooned as she eyed the chiseled features of the dark haired and handsome agent.

Kuryakin lifted his sunglasses, resting them atop his head as he rolled his eyes. She'd obviously been briefed on Napoleon's love of the ladies.

Pam absent-mindedly handed Illya his badge, but suddenly squealed in delight when she finally looked at him.

"Oh my goodness Mr. Kuryakin has anyone ever told you that you look like that blond actor in the new Steve McQueen movie, you know the one about the prison camp? Shame he gets killed it it."

"No I have Not Miss Paisley, nor do I care to watch a film about World War II, as I lived it." He was rather harsh with her as he snatched his badge from her hand.

"Well I never," she snapped her gum in response.

"I doubt that,"Illya mumbled under his breath.

Napoleon leaned over, whispering to her."Don't worry Pam, I'll make up for Mr. Grumpy's behavior when I take you out on Saturday night. How does the Brown Derby sound?"

"Ginchy!" She beamed.

"Oh it will be," Solo winked at her before disappearing through the secondary entrance as the door opened with a gentle whoosh.

"Illya was that necessary? She was giving you a compliment, comparing you to that actor...what's his name? McCallum. I saw him in the movie 'Freud' and he was absolutely gorgeous on screen, unlike you."

"Very funny. I have no interest in following any actors, nor dealing with cow-eyed receptionists who fall to pieces at the mention of an actor's name."

"Illya, why are you so grouchy today?"

"I have a sunburn."

"I did notice your face was a little pinkish, and how did you manage that? You never step foot out the door until the sun goes down, unless we're on an assignment. I swear you're like a vampire, except you end up at that dive of a Jazz club, what's it called again?"

"Shelly's Manne Hole, and it is not a dive. There is very good music played there. A lot of local talent."

"So you still didn't tell me why you're sunburned?" They continued walking along the beige corridors, heading towards Mr. Waverly's office.

That room was a cool drink of water in headquarters, since there were no windows the room had been filled with potted palms and ferns with special lighting for them. Instead of beige, the walls were painted a pale blue, making it feel as the sky surrounded them.

"To answer your question, I went surfing at Venice beach."

"That's what you did on your day off? "

"And what is wrong with that?"

"Ugh... _sunburn?_ " Napoleon reminded him sarcastically.

"I forgot my tanning lotion."

"I was wondering why you're hair was so blond. It's getting long too; you'd be able to blend in with the locals beach bums if you weren't so pale."

"Yes it is long and I like it like this."Illya ignored the other remark.

"Illya, I'm surprised that you go to Venice beach since its filled with nothing but bodybuilders lifting weights and the bathing beauties who surround them. I doubt those girls would even give you a second glance, given how skinny and pasty skinned you are."

"Very funny. I was not there to flirt, I was there to surf."

"An no one tried to beat you up?"

"No, that lot is too busy admiring themselves and the women admiring them. And what did you do on your day off, chase after some Hollywood starlet?"

"What do you think?" Napoleon snickered again. "I met Natalie Wood, and man she is stunning in person."

"Natalie Wood? Never heard of her."

"Illya, I need to get you out more often. Why don't you come with me to my beach bungalow this weekend. You can work on a tan, relax on the private beach. My neighbors are the Carlotta twins, Iva and Ivanna. Identical blonde bombshells. Va-va-va-voom! They're trying to break into pictures."

"Bombshells? Breaking into the theatre? Napoleon you have very questionable neighbors. Are they THRUSH? And how is it you can afford this beach house, we do not make that much money."

"Tovarisch, I swear there's no hope for you. Now as to my bungalow...let's say I have a special arrangement with Gina, my landlord."

"My friend, only you." Illya simply walked away, trying his best not to roll his eyes again.


	6. Love lost

**The prompt: What if Clara (from the Terbuf Affair) decided to ditch her husband after all and go back to New York with Napoleon?**

 **.**

As they sat in the boat preparing to leave with Clara and her husband, Kuryakin could see the pain in his partner's eyes. Napoleon was handcuffed to the woman he still loved, but they might as well have been on opposite sides of the world; Clara was staying with her husband and that as they say was that.

Illya could understand his friend's feelings as Napoleon was losing the woman all over again. Yet he thought it ironic as how could Solo lose what he didn't have?

The Russian had loved a few women in his life and had lost them as well, one through rejection like Napoleon, and another to murder.* Still a loss was a loss, and that fact could not be changed. He learned to let it go, as allowing such emotions eat away at one's heart could only make matters worse, not better.

He wanted to say these things to Napoleon but now was not the time.

Illya had other thoughts to deal with since being around Emil and the other gypsies had brought back memories of his childhood, of spending time in his Uncle Vanya's gypsy camp, with his cousin Anastasiya. They too were gone now, as was Kuryakin's entire family, including the gypsy clan as far as he knew., all victims of the Nazis. Still that was a lifetime ago.

He hadn't lied to Emil,when he said he was a seventh son...but not of Kuric, his was another gypsy tribe, the Ursari.

Illya sighed, telling himself it was time to put those recollections back where they belonged. It was not good to dwell upon them.

Both men were quiet, especially Napoleon when it came time to say goodbye to Clara. She was determined toto stand beside her husband Stefan in spite of his crimes. It wasn't going to be an easy life, there'd be no privilege for her, not any more, but that was her choice.

Once freed of the handcuffs, Napoleon and Clara went their separate ways. It was a cold farewell from him, in part because he knew she'd taken advantage of him, knowing he still had feelings for her.

Her desperation had nearly gotten them killed, but as Napoleon and she faced that firing squad he took solace in that he was going to die with the woman he loved.

Mr. Waverly always said a woman would be the death of him, and at the time Solo thought him right.

Thinking back, Napoleon recalled the hurt as he'd chosen duty and obligation to the Command instead of love. He tried convincing Clara there was room for them to be together, and his job as well, but she refused to believe it.

She couldn't live with the fact that he could go away on a mission and never come back to her. That wasn't the life she wanted. She wanted the husband with a nine to five job, the white picket fence and kids in the backyard. Napoleon told her that couldn't be, but he assured her he'd try to make as normal a life for the two of them.

That wasn't enough for her. Yet the tenderness she showed him while refusing him made it all the more difficult.. If she'd shouted at him, shown anger, it would have made the whole mess a lot easier to accept .

Napoleon's heart had been broken and he carried that inside himself for years. Her choice was made and he had to abide by it, yet somehow during this whole affair, he was suddenly filled with hope that she'd come back to him, choose him over Stefan Valder.

After all Valder was the bad guy and Napoleon was the good guy if you wanted to break it down to simplest of terms, but none of it was simple, not when love was involved. Clara still loved Stefan despite the fact he was now a criminal.

Napoleon sighed to himself, wondering how he could have lost her to a guy like that?

Now as he and Illya sat at the airport in Rome waiting for their flight to New York to board, his partner finally spoke up. Kuryakin had been silent the entire trip from Terbuf as had Solo. The Russian knew Napoleon well enough to just leave him be as he was mulling things over, until it was the right time to speak up and it was now.

"Do not to think too much about what might have been. It does no good to dwell on the past. It is a hard lesson I have learned it myself as there have been women I loved and lost. I do understand my friend."

"It's not just about losing her again Illya, it's about feeling, used. Abandoned too. Why do you think I go after all those women and sleep with them, and don't say it's because I'm just horny...well I am, but it's more than that. I'm empty like a hollowed out shell, there's a void that needs filling. I guess I'm trying to find another Clara. I still love her, I've never stopped loving her."

Illya had no answer for that as he saw tears well up in his friend's eyes. He understood about having a broken heart, still he was able to get over it and couldn't see why Napoleon would not able to do it as well...perhaps with time?"

"Napoleon?" A voice called from behind them.

Solo jumped to his feet, spinning around, quickly wiping his eyes. "Clara?"

"I heard what you said, and I'm sorry you've felt so terrible all these years. I never meant to hurt you; I was just afraid."

"Why are you here?"

"Because I realized that I still loved you. I asked myself why I was staying with Stefan after all he'd done. If he'd really loved me then he should… what I'm trying to say is that if you'll still have me Napoleon, I want to be with you, not Stefan. I want to be with you no matter what. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Be careful Napoleon," Illya whispered," A fly might get in there."

That wisecrack called Solo back to his senses and that's when Kuryakin made himself scarce.

"Clara, you're married," he finally said.

"So, I can get a divorce. I've come to my senses, and I want to be with you."

"Clara, I don't know." He hedged.

"Your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are telling me something else," Clara reached out, gently touching her hand to his chest.

He placed his hand over hers, looking right into her eyes.

"I heard you say you still loved me Napoleon."

"I do Clara, but do you really still love me?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I love you Napoleon Solo and always have."

He pulled her to him, kissing her. Clara wrapped herself around him, and Napoleon could feel himself melting in her embrace.

When their kiss ended, she told him she wanted to go back to New York with him.

He bit his lower lip before responding. "It won't be easy, and we can't get married. UNCLE forbids agents to do so. Everything is pretty much the same as we talked about it years ago, except I have more responsibility since I'm now Chief Enforcement Agent."

"It's okay," she smiled."we can live in sin, as long as we're together. You've managed to survive all these years, and I was worried back then that you wouldn't. All that time we could have been together just lost."

Napoleon's eyebrows arched upon hearing that. "Well then maybe we can make up for that lost time, " he smiled at her.

Illya appeared holding three tickets to New York instead of two.

"How did you know?" Napoleon asked.

"Looks are worth a thousand words my friend, and the looks between you two spoke volumes."

"Thanks tovarisch."

Six months later Clara Valder was now a divorced woman and had moved into a new, larger apartment with Napoleon. Things started out well enough but then the onslaught of his former girlfriends and lovers just got to be too much.

"I guess you didn't really miss me that much," she sniped during one of their spats.

"What was I supposed to do, spend the rest of my life being celibate and pining away for a woman who gave me up? You married Stefan, so I why couldn't have lovers?"

"Of course you could, but really Napoleon, how many of them were there, I mean... are there? These women don't take no for an answer and just keep calling for you. I can't take it anymore. How many of them are you still seeing? There's all those late nights, and then you're gone for weeks at a time."

"Sorry, but it's just the Solo charm. Women are drawn to me like moths to a flame...it's a gift."

"It's not funny!

"I wasn't joking,"he said. "There really is a…"

"I'll give you the Solo charm," she picked up a vase and fired it at him from across the room. Napoleon ducked as it missed him and smashed to smithereens against the wall.

"This was a mistake," she said before she started to cry.

Even though he still had feelings for her, Napoleon realized she was right.

"I agree., we can't live like this. You stay here and I'll move out, I can get my old apartment back. No one's moved in there, at least that's what Illya told me."

"Oh so you're discussing our business with him?"

"Well he is my best friend."

Clara rolled her eyes. "You know what, I'm not going to stay here either, I'm going back to Terbuf where I can hopefully do some good."

"Oh back to Stefan?" Napoleon snickered.

"No! I can be my own person; I don't need a man in my life and I don't need you."

"You don't need me Clara, but do you still love me, just a little bit?"

Her demeanor softened." Napoleon Solo, I'll always have love in my heart for you but we can't be together. It was really too late after all."

He lowered his head just for a second. "Then I'll say goodbye Clara, for the last time."

Napoleon turned and walked out the door, his heart broken again. Clara was right, it was too late.

He decided to seek solace in the arms of another woman, going back to his old ways. He still had his little black book in his desk at headquarters. He'd been faithful to Clara since she came back to New York with him, but she didn't believe that.

It was her loss...that's what he tried to tell himself.

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*ref to Marion Raven and my story "White Nights" respectively.


	7. Howdy pardner

**The prompt: What if The Man from UNCLE and its characters were set in 1880?**

Two men, one clothed smartly in a crisp white shirt with black string tie, striped vest and pressed pants; he had leather gloves on his hands and a black stetson hat with a sterling silver band on his head. His face was handsome and chiseled.

Hanging low on his hip was a black leather holster, in it a pearl handled Smith and Wesson Schofield .45 six shooter. Inlaid in the pommel of that gun was the initial 'S'.

The other man walking beside him was in less well kept clothing, his hat hanging on his back, draped from a cord around his neck. He wore a vest, light colored trousers and shirt, but appeared more disheveled like a working cow hand.

He was a fair haired, skinny, and a bit shorter in stature that his companion. One outstanding feature was his eyes, they were as blue as the sky but had a coldness to them even in the stifling heat of Texas.

His gunbelt hung low on his hip; the well oiled the brown leather belt held his pistol with the letter 'K' inlaid into the dark pommel. His was a Smith and Wesson as well, but with Russian modifications.

They were heading down a corridor in the back of a Laredo drinking establishment called, 'Del Flores' Saloon,' and finally coming to a door, the well dressed cowboy turned away from it and faced the bare wall opposite it.

Pushing with both hands; a secret panel opened and the two men quickly slipped inside, closing the wall behind them.

There was another door, and a special knock was given.

"Enter," a voice called.

"Hey pardner, after you," the dark one gestured. The blond merely nodded and proceeded in as instructed.

"Gentleman, welcome," an older man seated at a small table spoke to them. He affected a slight accent, British perhaps with a hint of a Scottish burr.

His name was Alexander Waverly and he was the man in charge of this secret place that housed a newly formed organization called the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It operated under the acronym of U.N.C.L.E... a clever name for a unique agency.

It came into being, filling a need after the end of the American Civil War. With the confusion that ensued following the near division of the United States, there arose a glut of mad men hell bent on taking over not only the country but possibly the world.

Those working for Waverly were tasked with special assignments, not unlike members of the United States Secret Service, though they weren't associated with the U.S. government. They were independent of any governmental influence and were dedicated to the eradication of evil.

Alexander Waverly saw the need to stop those who would try to subjugate mankind, and though the United States had its own agents out there, they were busy with their particular assignments and were but a small force of men.

One megalomaniac in particular was garnering the attention of the Secret Service at the moment; he was a diminutive genius named Doctor Miguelito Loveless. It was an going game of cat and mouse with him and he was under scrutiny by the best agents the U.S. government had, two men by the name of West and Gordon.

Often, U.N.C.L.E. stepped in to solve a problem when West, Gordon and the other U.S. Secret Service agents could not.

Mr. Waverly looked up as his two men entered the room that served as his office. He was dressed in the manner of a gentrified cattleman in tweed clothing reminiscent of his homeland.

At the moment he was smoking a pipe; it was his favorite, with the bowl carved out of wood from the root of a Mediterranean White Heath tree; called 'bruyere' it was now anglicized to 'briar' wood.

The room was filled with a pleasant sweet scent from the tobacco and was a welcome respite to the smell of horses and their manure, but after a while most people became desensitized to life around them in this rugged part of the country.

"Howdy, sir." The dark haired man greeted him. The blond remained silent.

"Gentlemen I have just received a letter from a friend of mine, Sir Reginald Royce. Apparently he is suspecting there is a sinister plot afoot in his neck of the woods, as it were. It involves members of the American military."

"Would that not be handled by the American government," the blond finally spoke up. He had a hint of an accent, a mixture of British and perhaps Slavic overtones.

"I would normally agree young man, but Sir Reginald suspects there something out of the ordinary happening with the local army stationed in the vicinity. The men he is well acquainted with have not been acting themselves and have become quite belligerent. There's talk about starting a war with Mexico. As Reginald is a peaceful land owner doing farming and some cattle ranching; he is concerned as to the well being of those who live in their small town of Escobar, which lies on the border with Mexico."

"As I recall it is sparsely populated, and an there is a Fort Escobar located there," the blond man said.

"Yes quite Mr. Kuryakin...I mean Mr. Kay. Dash it all, I must remember to call you that. Your Russian name seems to attract too much attention in these parts."

Kuryakin wasn't happy with that and it showed. "No more than Mr. Solo's first name being Napoleon?"

The American responded, "Which is why our cover names are Lee Solo and you're Eli Kay. Illya Kuryakin is a name that doesn't exactly fall trippingly off the tongue."

"That is because your pronunciation is not good...Amerikanskii. My name is Il-ya, not Eel-e-yuh Your Russian as well as your French accent by the way, are awful," he rebutted.

"I was sent here as representative from Tsar Nicholas II, and my ethnicity should not be of concern. There are Irish agents, British, Negro agents, French, even Chinese. Are we not in a place meant for the fusion of nationalities, cultures and ethnicities? Does not the plaque on your newly erected Statue of Liberty state…' _Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free?'_ I should be able to be free to use my own name without fear of repercussions, should I not?"

"Look pard, I meant no disrespect," Napoleon said. In reality Solo was annoyed that Kuryakin had just insulted him with the comment about his his accents, but it was better not to continue that discussion...at least not now.

"Gentlemen please, enough with your banter, do it on your own time," Waverly huffed, releasing a ring of pipe smoke that encircled his head.

"I have been in contact with President Hayes, and given the stability of the army officers from Fort Escobar is in question, he has agreed to let us investigate the situation. Once our findings are made I will report them directly to the President and he will take the appropriate actions if necessary. You are not to engage the United States military, am I clear on this? I don't want a war between this country and Mexico exploding because you two could not control yourselves...that means no dynamite Mr. umm, Kay?"

Kuryakin nodded his compliance, though he looked a bit disappointed.

"Yes sir," Napoleon saluted, having formerly been a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army.

Kuryakin had been a member of the Imperial Russian navy, but didn't fare well as sea sickness made his tenure somewhat difficult.

When Waverly requested his Imperial majesty send a representative to his newly formed organization; it was no surprise to the young Russian that he was selected among hundreds of potential representatives, but not for a good reason.

Why would the navy want someone who turned green and became sick aboard an Imperial ship. Illya Kuryakin was an embarrassment.

However, given that he was a superior horseman, having learned from the Kubayanski Cossacks of the great plains of Russian, that made it a plus in his favor to work for Waverly in the wilds of western America, and so he was shipped off to work for the U.N.C.L.E.

Once dismissed, Napoleon and Illya headed out and retrieved their horses from the stable; Kuryakin riding a feisty black stallion, Solo sat atop a gorgeous palomino with a flowing white mane and tail.

Solo's saddle was ornamented with silver, while the Russian's was plain black leather, but well cared for.

They spurred their horses to a gallop, heading out of Laredo with a plan to meet with Sir Reginald at his ranch.

As they travelled Kuryakin pulled a bandana from his pocket, knocking back his hat momentarily while he wiped his perspiring brow.

"Feeling the heat pardner?" Napoleon asked.

"I am not accustomed to this. Where I come from we do not have such extreme temperatures, and there is plenty of snow. I doubt this place has ever seen snow...have you?"

"Snow? Of course I have. I'm from New York City and we get plenty of it, especially up state."

"Oh I have heard that. It is nothing compared to what falls in Moskva. Winters are so harsh that Tsar of all the Russias has winter palace in St. Petersburg. It is where our monarchs have lived for over one hundred years, though there are other royal palaces dating back to the 1500's. Your American history is a mere grain of sand compared to the history of my country...and your weather too,"Illya snickered.

Napoleon sighed, wondering if this guy ever stopped bragging about mother Russia? He found it interesting that the old country was pretty quick to give him up to the likes of U.N.C.L.E. though that topic was another can of worms that didn't need to be opened at the moment.

His new partner seemed to be a pretty smart cowpoke, but there were times he just didn't know when to quit. If it was a topic he was keen on you just couldn't get him to stop his yammering, otherwise you were lucky to get two words out of him. He was a strange one all right, but the man was a dead shot with a six shooter and handy with a knife, so he was handy to have round in a fight.

Still, Napoleon found himself liking the man, and the Russian apparently liked him as well.

When they arrived at Sir Reginald's, the house was not what they expected, but given the proximity to the Mexican border the architecture had heavy Spanish influences.

It was a sprawling whitewashed hacienda with a roof of red clay tiles. There was a swath of blue paint that ran along the base of the walls, making it look like the house sat in a pool of cool water. Surrounding it was surprising lush greenery planted everywhere and there was even lovely English roses that managed to survive in this arid climate.

After being welcomed into the Royce hacienda it was decided that Sir Reginald would hold a soiree and invite the military officers in question so the agents could observe them.

Other guests would be the local Dons with whom Sir Reginald was friendly. The interaction between them and the American officers might be a little revealing.

Napoleon had an appropriate dress suit for the occasion but Illya was another question. It was decided that he would wear the uniform of one of the houseboys tending to the guests at the party. That would allow him to mingle amongst them and eavesdrop.

Kuryakin's last words to his partner were,"Remember we are not to interact, we are here to merely gather information, and that goes for any of the señoritas present as well."

"Look, you do what you do best and I'll do what I do," Napoleon flicked an eyebrow.

"That is what I am afraid of." Kuryakin gathered his serving tray and headed to the kitchen. There he'd get the glasses of champagne and wine to serve to the gathering guests.

Neither of them could wear their gun belts but both had derringers hidden in their sleeves and the Russian had a throwing knife tucked into his right boot.

One by one the army officers were introduced to 'Lee' Solo who was in turn introduced as a dealer in firearms from back East. It wasn't long before he was able to engage the military men in a conversation regarding relations with Mexico. As soon as the topic was broached, the soldier's demeanor changed, and their eyes glazed over.

It seemed to Napoleon that they'd been hypnotized and were spouting the same derogatory diatribe regarding the Don's and the local Mexicans who lived in Escobar. Calling them thieving trash, and nothing but pistoleros.

Solo backed off, following after Illya while retrieving a glass of champagne.

"What did you hear?"

Illya whispered his findings." There is a man who seems to be gathering people to his way of thinking, and that is a war with Mexico. He has been buying up land in this area both in Texas and Mexico. It is as though he wishes to take over it all, creating his own country perhaps?"

"Who is it Kay?" Napoleon whispered.

"That one, dressed in the white jacket covered in military medals, though upon closer examination the medals are from time periods in which he could not have earned them. His name is Emory Charles Partridge, and he is originally from a place called East Snout in England. There are others with him wearing an odd patch on their left breasts, it is of a bird. I have heard they call themselves 'Tordo' which I believe is the Spanish word for 'thrush'."

"I think the American officers have been hypnotized,"Napoleon said."They spoke about going to war with Mexico as if they were reciting lines from a play. My gut instinct tells me these bird fellows may have had a hand trying to stir up a bit of a revolution here pardner."

The Russian agreed." I do not think Mexican President Díaz will be happy about that, nor President Hayes. We have enough evidence to report back to Mr. Waverly."

"Let's keep listening in a bit more," Napoleon smiled. "in the meantime I'm going to enjoy a dance with that lovely bit of femininity in the pink gown." He winked to his partner, who merely rolled his eyes.

This American would never listen when it came to the ladies…they would probably be the death of him someday.

As Solo waltzed with the dazzling beauty, he discovered she was the daughter of Colonel Henry Pickering, the head of the outpost here.

"Mr. Solo would you care to accompany me for a walk in the lovely rose garden here? It's such a refreshing splash of color and aroma in the midst of dull Escobar. Life at a military fort is so boring at times."

"It would be my honor Miss Pickering," Napoleon offered the lady his arm. He loved the sound of her crinoline petticoat as she moved; they seemed to make women wearing them look as if they were floating on air, and to Solo it added to their allure.

As they walked under the moonlight sky, the heady fragrance of the many yellow rosebushes filled the air.

"Tell me Miss Pickering, have you noticed anything odd about your father as of late?"

"Why Mr. Solo, that's such an odd question to ask a girl on a stroll in a garden on a beautiful moonlit evening."

"Oh your beauty far outshines the moon and the roses Miss Pickering," he stopped, while smiling at her.

"Call me Sally," the girl blushed.

"And you can call me Na..Lee, call me Lee." He gently raised her chin with his hand, bringing her lips close to his and gently kissed her. Napoleon could see it in her eyes, that was what she wanted.

There was a warm breeze and the sound of a coyote howling in the distance. The serene moment was interrupted when someone shouted.

"And just what do you think you're doing Yankee?" It was one of the officers from the fort. "You come here nosing around our business and now I find you taking liberties with the Colonel's daughter!"

He aimed his Colt revolver at Solo, cocking the hammer as he prepared to fire but before he could do so the Russian crept up behind him and hit him on the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

"Oh good Lord, what is going on here," Sally blurted out."I can't believe Captain Jensen was going to shoot you because of an innocent kiss. I swear, everyone here is going mad; they're talking about killing all the Dons and going to war with the Mexicans. I blame that man Partridge, it seems as though all this insanity began after he arrived."

"And your father, is he not acting like himself?" Illya asked.

She looked at him, thinking he was merely the help.

"It's all right Sally, he's with me. We're here to find out what's going on. Our...umm, UNCLE sent us at the behest of President Hayes."

Sally opened up, and gave them even more information and that was when they decided it was time to leave. They suggested Miss Pickering remain here at the hacienda with Sir Reginald until everything was made right again.

Two weeks later Federal troops arrived and were able to capture all of the Todos people with the exception of Partridge; he managed to escape.

The soldiers from Fort Escobar would be treated by military physicians, though this hypnosis thing was new to them.

It was decided that Solo and Kuryakin would leave the search for Emory Charles Partridge to be continued by James West and Artemus Gordon as President Hayes was sending them to Escobar.

Back in Laredo, Napoleon was off visiting Miss Wanda, one of the ladies at Del Flores' Saloon, and Kuryakin was immersing himself in some books from a new Public Lending Library that had just opened up in town.

Life was as it should be on the streets of Laredo and for these new men from U.N.C.L.E. it was as well... for now.


	8. Partners

**What if April and Illya were partners, Napoleon and Mark best buds and partners?**

.

Illya Kuryakin walked along the grey corridors of headquarters heading to the office he shared with his new partner.

It was a partnership that he was unhappy about not because his parter was a woman but because she was a fashion plate.

He'd seen her about headquarters and she always wearing the trendiest of clothes. Her makeup and hair were flawless, making her stand out. April Dancer could hardly blend in while on assignment when wearing garishly colored mini skirts with matching hats and boots.

She looked as though she should be on the cover of a fashion magazine like Vogue. It was hardly the sort of clothing that an unobtrusive spy should be wearing.

Once they'd been partnered, he reminded her of that fact, asking her to tone down what she wore, but it seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

April was smart, but stubborn. Many of the other Section II agents felt she didn't belong out in the field, and Illya would hear the derogatory whispers behind his back about the "Commie Red and the Red head."

Such things he simply ignored as he'd dealt with the prejudices against him being a Soviet when he was assigned to the London headquarters. Still the remarks directed at April were simply inappropriate.

Her dossier indicated that she was more than capable of doing her job; she just needed a little fine tuning.

She'd gone through Survival School and graduated with outstanding marks, and she earned her position with Section II through hard work, and not the more horizontal way that some at headquarters intimated. He just couldn't understand how men could feel threatened by a more than capable woman.

During his training and tenure as an agent in Soviet Union there were many female agents who in fact were more capable than some of their male counterparts, though," he smirked,' they could not hold candle when comparing their looks to April Dancer. Illya was not completely immune to her feminine charms, but for the sake of their partnership things had to remain strictly professional. He was well able to hide his emotions, as many in UNCLE were already aware of that ability. They seemed to think that he lacked feelings, but untrue...he just chose not to show them.

As far as their feelings of mistrust towards him, it was the status quo. The Cold War had created an atmosphere of mistrust and fear...on both sides. He could live with their attitudes towards him; he was here to do a job and not make friends.

The American agents eyed him with suspicion, despite his successful record working for U.N.C.L.E. He did wonder though, how many times did he need to prove himself to them before they'd accept him as an equal.

At the rate things were going, probably never.

As the doors to their shared office opened, Kuryakin he was hit by the extremely strong scent of perfume.

"Ahhhhh choo!" He sneezed rather loudly.

"Oh Gesundheit darling."

Illya grabbed his handkerchief and covered his nose with it.

"Firstly April, have I not asked you cease wearing perfume, you know it affects my….aaaaaah choo! My allergies? Secondly do not call me darling as it is very unprofessional and lastly we discussed you learning Russian, so not Gesundheit."

"Sorry dar...Illya I forgot. I'll go wash off the perfume in the ladies room and yes, I should have said bood' zdorov when you sneezed."

"Da, that was much better."

"Why thank you dar...Spasibo. Now let me go wash off this perfume and I promise not to wear it again while on duty."

She disappeared through the doors, running straight into Napoleon Solo, the Chief Enforcement Agent and nearly knocking the two of them down in the process.

"Oh excuse me Mr. Solo, I'm so so sorry." She was all red in the face with embarrassment.

"That's Napoleon, and what's the rush April?"

"Oh, Mr. Kury...Illya was having an allergic reaction to my perfume so I was just running to the ladies room to wash it off. Poor darling, he started sneezing terribly."

"He did, did he? Well I happen to think you smell wonderful," he looked at his wristwatch."Tell you what, it's almost lunch time, how about you meet me in Del Floria's in ten minutes and we'll go have something to eat.

I haven't really been able to sit down and get acquainted with you since you arrived here." He flashed an oh so charming smile at her.

"Oh, well all right I guess."

"Good, I'll see you downstairs in ten minutes and don't wash off that perfume just yes...it's quite alluring," Napoleon saluted and continued on his way around the next corner.

Mark Slate quietly stepped up behind Dancer, "Are you sure you want to do that luv?"

"Do what, have lunch with him?"

"It's obvious you don't know his reputation with the ladies. I'd be cautious if I were you."

"Excuse me Mr. Slate but aren't you Napoleon's partner?"

"I am indeed, he's my best mate too... and call me Mark, please. I just like to give the new ladies at headquarters a heads up. I figured you wouldn't really be socializing with the ladies in support staff for them to clue you in. Just so you know, Napoleon Solo is a gentleman, don't get me wrong, but he's quite the ladies man. He fancies himself quite the lover, and the ladies round here seem to agree."

"Oh really?" April mused.

"Napoleon never ever, gives it a rest. His favorite saying in regards to his animal attraction is 'when you've got it, you've got it...and I have it."

"Well thanks for the warning Mark, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, now if you ever do feel like going out for a drink or a little dancing, I'm your man, "Mark smiled, "and I'm always the gentleman luv, and I don't try to lure the ladies...well, you get my drift.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you. I'll keep that in mind. Now I need to run as ...I'm on a little assignment for my own partner."

"How you getting along with Kuryakin? He's not exactly the friendliest of chaps. You know his nickname right?"

"Yes, I've heard him called the Ice Prince, among other names that I won't repeat. Not very flattering if you ask me. I find him to be kind, and he's been very willing to show me the ropes. There's things they just don't cover in Survival School, and Illya's knowledge is invaluable. He told me that after finishing his stint there, Jules Cutter asked him to stay on to teach a course in explosives."

"Yes I did hear that about him. Makes sense as he's the resident explosives expert. He's developed quite a few compounds down in the Research and Development labs."

"Really? That's quite impressive."

"Tell me April, a pretty bird like you...you don't mind working with…"

"Don't you dare call Illya a Commie! " She wagged her finger at him.

"Whoa, wait a minute luv, don't presume that's what I was going to say. If you'd let me finish, I was going to say how'd you like working with an egg head. Kuryakin has his Phd. in Physics you know. Not exactly the type one would expect to be a field operative...then again he was trained in the Soviet Union; I hear their training is pretty harsh, brutal even."

"Oh Mark, I apologize; I shouldn't have presumed, but poor Illya has to put up with those nasty sort of slurs all the time and he just takes it. Honestly next person I hear calling my partner any of those terrible names is going to get an earful from me, and maybe something else," she held up a fist.

"Gee April, remind me never to get on your bad side."

She laughed at that, and looking at her watch she said her goodbye to Slate and headed down to Del Floria's to meet Napoleon.

After turning in her ID badge she stepped through the slowly opening door into the dressing room. As soon as the door closed behind her she stepped out into the tailor shop.

Napoleon was waiting and greeted her. "Hi there, ready?"

"Umm, sure. Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd head over to the Masque Club for a drink or two and then head out to a nice intimate little bistro a few blocks over from here. It's quiet the and we'll be able to talk and get better acquainted. Oh and lunch is on me by the way."

"Oh the Masque Club? I haven't been there yet,"April put on a very naive tone of voice."It wasn't exactly on the tour of headquarters. Is drinking while on duty all right? I would think it wouldn't be."

"A little drink now and then is tolerated, it's not like we're going to get drunk are we?" He chuckled.

"No, as long as I don't drink champagne...that gets me a little tipsy."

"April, that is something you should never reveal, as it is a weakness," her partner suddenly spoke from behind she and Solo. Neither of them had heard his approach.

"And what are you doing here?" Napoleon asked.

"Watching my partner's back. I suggest we skip the Masque Club and go straight to that little bistro, da?"

"What do you mean, we?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh I think that is appropriate that the three of us sit down together and discuss life here at U.N.C.L.E. since both April and I are new here at headquarters. Would you not say as CEA it is a good thing to confer will all your new agents?"

"Well, yes but…" Napoleon knew when he was cornered.

"Oy!" Mark Slate called as he stepped out of the dressing room. "Did I hear you say lunch was on you? I'm famished mate! I could eat a bloody horse."

If Solo could have snarled, he would. "On second thought, let's all go to the deli across the street." He resigned himself to the fact that his strategy had failed.

"Right guv, it'll be cheaper won't it?" Mark winked at his partner.

"All right folks, wagons ho!" Napoleon sighed.

"What wagons?" Illya asked."What is the meaning of this wagon's ho?"

"Don't worry tovarisch," April smiled while patting him on the shoulder," I'll explain after lunch."

"Napoleon," Slate whispered as they climbed the steps outside Del Floria's to she sidewalk." I hope you have plenty of money on you as I hear the Russian has a huge appetite."

"Don't you have any money on you Mark?"

"Nope, sorry mate. I'm skint."

"Just my luck," Napoleon mumbled.

"Well you always brag about the Solo luck, don't you?"Mark snickered.

"Smart Brit." Solo wise cracked.


	9. Hidden away

**The prompt: What if Napoleon had a secret? Something that perhaps not even Waverly knows about... maybe. What can come of such a deep and dark element to the CEO of UNCLE Northwest?**

.

Napoleon was seemingly carefree in his life outside of UNCLE. He clothed himself in fine suits, went out to dinner with the loveliest of ladies, some of whom he would take to bed. The others would merely give him a pleasant evening of good company and conversation.

He had a nicely furnished apartment, though he would have preferred a penthouse like his Aunt Amy, but he knew eventually he'd have one. He had a great job, though a dangerous one, still being ever the optimist, it never crossed his mind that he could be killed because of his line of work.

He was now the CEA of UNCLE Northwest, and with that came more responsibilities. With that promotion came the knowledge that he was being groomed to someday take Alexander Waverly's place as Continental Chief of North America.

Napoleon had the best partner one could ever ask for, Illya Kuryakin was not only a partner but a best friend yet he'd become more like a brother. If Napoleon wasn't with a lady friend, he was with Illya, whether it was on assignment or off duty. They were really polar opposites but for some reason they clicked.

Illya was a secretive guy, in part due to his Soviet upbringing and training. The old saying 'loose lips sink ships' could be applicable to the man, though finally he was relaxing and revealing some of his very private background to Solo.

That meant a lot to Napoleon as he knew Kuryakin was really trusting him to keep his 'secrets,' which he would.

He was very open with his Russian friend, telling him of his past and even letting him meet his family. The parents, threes sisters, a niece, his brother Hannibal and of course Aunt Amy, who'd practically adopted Illya as another nephew.

Still there was one member of the family that Kuryakin had never met. He was the dark Solo secret. No one outside the family knew about him, not even Alexander Waverly.

Napoleon kept that information well hidden; if anyone found out...well it could be disastrous for those involved.

You see, Napoleon had an identical twin brother. Identical in looks that is, but Mikhail Solo didn't have the personality of Napoleon. He was a sociopath and quite insane.

When he was young, Mickey, as he was called, was found torturing insects with a magnifying glass. He became known as the kid who pulled the wings off flies as there apparently was a very cruel streak in him. When he became older his targets changed, first birds then cats and dogs. It was when he switched his preferences to the human kind, things had to be done. He was caught beating and torturing a local child, just because he felt like it.

It was then Mickey Solo's life in the outside world was brought to an abrupt end.

He'd been under psychiatric care for years, since his cruel 'proclivities' had been discovered, but the treatments did little good.

After harming the child, torturing the poor boy, Mikhail was sent away to a mental institution in Amityville, Long Island, New York. It was called the Long Island Home. Mickey was too violent for such a facility, and he was sent to an institution in upstate New York that housed patients with such tendencies. Granted he could have been medicated, and turned into a zombie, but the family refused that sort of treatment. The Solos were mortified at having such a child, and denied his existence. The boy was all but abandoned to the mental institution.

Napoleon however did not disregard Mickey. He had a big heart and despite his brother being for all intents and purposes, a nut case, he still loved him. They were connected, after all they were twins, and it seemed that Napoleon had a soothing effect on his brother.

He often wondered why his parent's gave Mikhail a Russian name. It was the Solo family tradition to name their male children after famous generals. Napoleon of course was named after Bonaparte.

Mikhail was apparently named after General Mikhail Kutuzov supreme commander of the Russian army at the time of Bonaparte's Russian invasion; Kutuzov engaged in bloody and narrow victory at the town of Borodino, about 70 miles west of Moscow against the French. He defeated the Grande Armée of Bonaparte, though barely. Emperor Napoleon had underestimated Kutuzov. Still, it was a battle that would eventually lead to Bonaparte's overall defeat in the Napoleonic War.

Napoleon daren't ask why he and his brother were named after adversaries... one didn't do such things, question one's parents, especially the likes of Darius Solo, his father.

He often wondered if because Mikhail had a Russian name, that it was a subconscious reason as to why he took to Illya Kuryakin. Was Illya the brother that Mikhail could never be? That was a bit deep, but no psychiatrist would ever hear that from Napoleon. The last thing he wanted was having he head picked apart by a shrink, it was bad enough he had to deal with them within UNCLE. It was a question that would never be answered for Napoleon as no one knew about, for all intents and purposes… his 'evil twin.'

Solo would pay a visit to his brother Mikhail monthly, like clockwork and was careful to ensure no one knew what he was doing.

Except this one time; Napoleon was careless and Kuryakin picked up on it instantly.

Illya followed his partner, staying discreetly behind him in an UNCLE sedan.

As Napoleon pulled his car up to the secure gate of the Westerman Psychiatric Facility outside Albany, Illya knew he could not just drive up to the gate as well and gain admittance. He thought it best not to try to climb the very high wall surrounding the facility; patience was the better route to take.

Instead he parked his car nearby and waited for Napoleon to come out, and an hour later his partner did so.

Solo instantly spotted the Russian, and looked none too pleased. His face was pale, as if he were in shock.

He walked up beside Illya car, and as Kuryakin stepped out of it, Napoleon raised his voice.

"You have no right to be here!"

"I do not? Then why do you always tell me, here is a free country?" Illya answered while presenting a calm demeanor. "Why are you so angry I am here?"

Napoleon what surprised by that response. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. What's going on here is personal and private. Surely you can understand such things?"

Illya could see that it was more than his partner being upset with him, there was something else, something more was vexing his American friend.

"I can understand your anger with me Napoleon, and I apologize for intruding but there is something else wrong is there not?"

Napoleon's shoulders drooped as he exhaled. "You know me all too well. You see I was visiting my brother who is committed here."

"Your brother Hannibal has been institutionalized. I am so sorry my friend, I had no idea."

"No Illya not Hannibal...my brother, my identical twin brother Mikhail."

Kuryakin's eyes opened wide with surprise. "You have a twin?"

"Yes, he was put away here by the family as he's crazy...a sociopath. I'm the only one visits who him, as I was the only one he'd ever responded to, well at least not like a madman, but not today, today he tried to kill me."

Napoleon seemed near to tears, but fought them back as he spoke. "We were together as usual in a private visiting room. I mentioned mom and dad and that's when Mickey dove at me, and got his hands around my throat. I couldn't get him off me at first...his strength seemed inhuman. Once the orderlies got into the room they got him off me. He broke loose and I had to karate chop my brother. Illya, the look in his eyes was terrible, murderous. I don't know what triggered it. Mickey's never tried to hurt me before, ever...even since we were kids. I don't know how I'll tell the rest of the family."

Kuryakin knew no words of sympathy would help. "Then tell no one. Instruct them here to not inform your family. You have been a good brother but there is not much one can do when the other person is ill as your brother. Take heart in the fact that he is well cared for."

"Illya, no one outside the family knows about him, not even Waverly. It has to stay that way. It's a dark family secret and needs to remain that way."

"You have my solemn promise never to reveal this. I swear I will take it to the grave with me."

Napoleon clapped his hand on his partner's shoulder, with the barest of smiles, "Thanks, but you don't have to be quite that melodramatic about it."

That in turn made the Russian smile."Come, let me buy you lunch for once and you can explain to me why this mysterious twin brother of yours has a Russian first name."

"Illya, please one shock is enough today."

"Another shock? To what are you referring?"

"You offering to pay for lunch," Napoleon finally laughed.

The two men got into Illya's car, heading down the road to a nearby diner.

.

 _"This is Agent Sirius to THRUSH headquarters,_ " a swarthy man wearing a fedora spoke into a handheld microphone as he sat in his car.

 _"Go ahead Sirius."_

 _"I followed Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin to the Westerman Psychiatric Facility outside Albany and am going to check it out."_

 _"Good, keep me informed,_ "It was the voice of Dr. Agnes Dabree.

.

Lunch was quiet at the diner, both men ate in silence except for the periodic yummy sound one of them would make when they tasted a particularly good portion of their meal.

They drove back to the parking lot outside the Westerman Facility, and there Napoleon found an urgent note taped to his windshield of his car.

.

" _ **Mr. Solo please come inside and see Doctor Westerman as soon as you read this. This is urgent!"**_

 _ **.**_

Illya accompanied his partner inside and they were both ushered into Dr. Westerman's office.

When the doctor eyed Kuryakin, Napoleon spoke up." This is my associate Mr. Illya Kuryakin. Illya this is Dr. Donald Westerman, my… brother's physician."

The doctor barely nodded and seemed most anxious to speak.

"Mr. Solo, I have some very alarming news. Your brother Mikhail has escaped the facility, possibly with some help. The window to his bedroom had been broken open from the outside, as there were glass shards on the floor."

"But aren't there bars on the windows here?"

"Yes but someone seems to have destroyed the locking mechanism, there we burn marks on it."

Napoleon lowered his head into his hand, not knowing what to think... but what he suspected shook him to his very core.


	10. Caught in the act

**The prompt: What if Illya Kuryakin really was working for the Soviets? What if his loyalty to UNCLE was severely handicapped by his devotion to duty regarding his homeland?** **What if Napoleon found out?**

 **.**

It was early in the partnership of Solo and Kuryakin that Napoleon started to become a bit suspicious. At first the Russian's tight lipped demeanor seemed worthy of that suspicion.

Illya wouldn't speak of his past, not only\what he did working for military intelligence back in the Soviet Union, but his personal life.

Napoleon could understand the former but not the latter. He had to go to Kuryakin's personnel file to find out he was born in the Ukraine with a Russian father and Russian-Ukrainian mother. Yet he grew up in an orphanage in Moscow.

No details about what happened to the family, nor what sort of childhood Illya had...Napoleon could only imagine it, and none of it was good.

Solo knew the KGB and GRU often gleaned recruits from the orphanages, hand picking the gifted ones to bring under their wings. Someone must have taken a liking to Illya...he had to have been around sixteen or so when they got their hooks into him.

He received his higher education at the Sorbonne and at Cambridge, so his Soviet masters were aware of his intelligence.

Why he'd been palmed off on UNCLE, and no doubt he was, Napoleon couldn't help but wonder.

So far Kuryakin had completed his tutelage of all things UNCLE under Harry Beldon, but according to his records he didn't attend Survival School until just being transferred here to New York...Cutter even kept the man an extra month after graduation to teach a course in demolitions.

So if Illya was so great, why did the Soviets give him away? Or did they?

It wasn't his place to ask Waverly, and he decided to launch his own investigation.

Napoleon knew the skuttlebutt, that giving the Old Man a Soviet representative would allow the Kremlin access to intelligence as they were now a member nation of UNCLE. Not everything mind you, Waverly had the final say on which member country saw what information.

Still it didn't make sense for them to just give up an agent of Illya's caliber. That added to Napoleon's suspicions. He began to keep track of Illya's comings and goings, beyond his partner's penchant for jazz clubs. That surveillance revealed no clandestine rendezvous.

One Friday afternoon, Napoleon decided to follow Kuryakin. It was quitting time and since no work was pending, agents could leave for the day.

Napoleon had made note that on the first Monday of the month, Illya would be out the door like a shot.

Given they lived in the same apartment building he could easily see the comings and goings of the residents as there was only one returned like clockwork at seven o'clock.

Finally Napoleon discreetly place a bug in the Soviet's apartment, that was directly below his, setting it in the chandelier in the middle of the living room ceiling.

Of course he kept his fingers crossed that Illya wouldn't sweep for bugs. He'd been with UNCLE in New York for nine months and three years if you counted his stint with Beldon.

He and Kuryakin were partners for the last three of those nine months, so there was a sense of trust and acceptance established between them... per se.

On the first Monday morning of the month Illya would make a telephone call before leaving for headquarters. Speaking in Russian with a minimum of words,

"Da. Nyet. V to zhe vremya. Obychnoye mesto."

Translating to, yes, no, same time, usual place."

It was obvious he wasn't arranging a rendezvous with a woman, not with that cold emotionless voice. He was definitely not making a date that would last only an hour, not with that tone.

Granted Illya liked women, that Napoleon knew, though the Russian was quiet and awkward around them. The man wasn't a monk, but sometimes he sure acted like one.

So here Napoleon was following Illya out of headquarters, at a discreet distance of course. Finally a taxi became involved and Solo quickly hailed one and it taxi took off after the one Kuryakin was in.

The Russian's cab arrived at the Soviet Mission to the United Nations on Park Avenue. As Illya exited the taxi, he quickly flashed some sort of identification at the gate and was granted immediate access.

Napoleon watched this happen over the period of a few months. The same pattern repeated again and again until Solo had enough. This he waited outside the Soviet Mission, and there he confronted his partner.

"Missing home that much, tovarisch?" He was leaning casually against a lamp post with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Napoleon what are you doing here?" Illya's face blanched.

"Better question is what are you doing here? As an UNCLE agent you're not supposed to have contact with your former government. So what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on." Illya shrugged and began to walk down the sidewalk.

"Oh no, you're not pulling the silent treatment with me."

Kuryakin stopped dead in his tracks. "Fine if you must know, my government still requires me to check in with them. They question me but I tell them nothing, as there is nothing to tell. They ask me if the intelligence that Mr. Waverly sends them is genuine, and I confirm its authenticity, but nothing more."

"So you're still acting as an agent for the GRU?"

"Technically yes. I am still their agent as well as a Soviet citizen. I am merely on loan to UNCLE and though I swore an oath of allegiance to the Command, I am still loyal to my country. Surely you feel the same way about your own home?"

"Oh I love my country, but as an UNCLE agent I've given up those, shall we say loyalties. The Command is my home now, as it should be for you."

"Are you questioning my fealty to the organization?" Now Illya's face was flushing pink.

"Well if it really comes down to it...yes."

"Did I already not say to you I tell them nothing? I am holding true to my oath to UNCLE. I go to merely verify the intelligence to my country is valid. It is they who are being mistrustful not I. Once they realize that everything UNCLE gives them intelligence wise is genuine, they will no longer require me to validate."

"And what if they ask you to spy for them...you did say your are still their agent."

"Napoleon please do not put me in such a position? I am an UNCLE agent and a loyal one and that should suffice."

Solo stood there in silence, carefully wording what he was about to say.

Illya I like you as a partner and the you're first one I've been able to work with. We make a good team and I know you have my back and I have yours," he paused, "I trust you...tovarisch. The question is do you trust yourself?"

"Trust myself?"

"When the time comes, and it just might someday, when you have to make a choice between being an agent of the GRU or an U.N.C.L.E."

"Napoleon I am an UNCLE agent, I have given my word, but if that day comes, if I have to choose I cannot tell you what my choice will be. It really depends upon the circumstances I suppose."

"Fair enough."

"Napoleon are you going to tell Mr. Waverly of this?"

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised if he already knows about your monthly visits to the Soviet Mission."

"You know, you are probably right my friend."

Solo looked at his wristwatch."I don't know about you but I'm famished. How about dinner at my place. I have a couple of steaks marinating as we speak."

"Thank you Napoleon for giving me your trust."

"You're welcome, but don't disappoint me pal."

"I will try my best." Illya offered his hand as a sign of his promise.

Napoleon took it; that handshake to him, sealed the deal.


	11. Second Thoughts

**What if Mister Waverly were actually a Madame Waverly?**

Things were certainly run efficiently in the New York headquarters of the U.N.C.L.E.

In this place neatness counted and everything was beyond spit spot and in its place; that was in part thanks to the leadership of Margaret Eustace Waverly, number one of Section I for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. She'd been instrumental in founding the organization for the purpose of fighting evil in the world, and organization that was free to operate without the confines or limitations of any single government.

U.N.C.L.E. recruited and trained the best of the best to be their operatives, and at the moment Madame Waverly was a bit perturbed, as her newest agent was late. Not a good way to start a new job...

.

Napoleon Solo had just arrived at headquarters in New York city, fresh from Survival School as the newest addition to Section II, the division for field agents, basically they were spies, going where they were told and doing what they were told by Waverly, the head of U.N.C.L.E. Northwest.

Being a bit of a ladies man, Napoleon felt like a kid in a candy shop as he walked the grey corridors while passing one beautiful woman after another, many of whom were field agents, though some were support staff. They all wore pale yellow or blue blouses and tight fitting black pencil skirts that accentuated the almost hypnotic swaying of their hips.

He'd heard he would be in the minority as the ratio of male to female employees was that of three to one. He liked those numbers.

Napoleon smiled to himself, feeling he'd be like a rooster in a hen house, or so he thought. At first he tried flirting with a few of the ladies as he sauntered along, heading to meet with Waverly, the head of the entire organization.

It seemed none of them would have any of it; they turned up their noses at him and went on about their business.

"Oh boy," he muttered to himself. He could only hope that the women here would chill out a bit once they got to know him and his limitless charms.

He stepped from the elevator, walking down the final corridor leading to his ultimate destination. Though he knew exactly where he was, he stopped at the receptionist desk to ask.

"Excuse me, my name is…"

"Yes, I know. You're Napoleon Solo and you're late," she looked at her wristwatch."The boss doesn't like tardiness."

His eyebrows arched at her curtness."I'll make a note of it, now might I at least know your name since you know mine."

"I'm Lisa Rogers, personal assistant to Madame Waverly."

"Madame?" He repeated. "I thought Waverly was a man."

"Hardly. You better head in, she's expecting you."

Napoleon gave Lisa a little salute and adjusted his tie until the pneumatic doors opened with a gentle whoosh.

"Ah yes," she looked at a small silver watch pinned her jacket."Do come in and sit down. You're late by the way...see that it doesn't happen again."

Napoleon heard a very British voice speak, though he couldn't see her just yet as her back was to him, until he approached the large round conference table where she was seated. Once she was within his field of vision he was taken aback; Madame Waverly, regardless of her gender, was much younger than he expected someone to be in charge of the Northwest division of the U.N.C.L.E.

She was at most in her early sixties, blonde hair cut in a short bob hair style, and dressed in a white collared blouse, brown tweed jacket and matching skirt. Her attire didn't hide the fact that she was quite shapely.

"Yes Ma'am. Napoleon Solo." He offered his hand to her, flashing one of his most charming smiles. "A pleasure to meet you.

"Oh sit down will you," she waved him off.

Napoleon watched as she reached for a humidor near a control console set up off to the side of her chair, and filled the bowl of a small pipe, lighting it with a wooden took a few puffs, letting the aromatic smoke from it curl above her head.

Napoleon remained nonplussed, though seeing a woman smoke a pipe was a bit unusual. He was sure he'd see a lot stranger things while working for this organization.

"We have quite a few things to discuss Mr. Solo; number one on my list is your comportment young man. I've heard you have quite a reputation with the ladies, so let me be clear about it from the start; I will tolerate no such nonsense with the women here at headquarters, nor at any other UNCLE installation. You are here to do a job and not make dates or amorous rendezvous. There is to be absolutely no fraternization among my employees. Period. Is that clear?"

It was all Napoleon could do to keep from cringing. This woman was all about business.

"Yes Ma'am, crystal clear." He wondered for a second if he'd made a mistake joining this organization, but decided to give it a chance. Things couldn't be that bad…headquarters was only an office and he'd meet plenty of women in the field. He could use his charms on them and he just might be able to turn an enemy agent or two with them. Napoleon was sure the Command wouldn't mind him using his wiles for that purpose.

"Ahem," Waverly cleared her throat. "Are you listening to me Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon shifted position in his chair. "Yes Ma'am."

"Well then, I have prepared a list of agents who are to be partnered with you as mentors, that is until you have gotten the knack of how we do things. I realize you excelled at Survival School, but you also have a tendency to fly by the seat of your pants, as it were. I'll have none of that here. We have tried and true methods that work. That being said, I still do allow my agents some leeway when it comes to bending certain rules while out in the field, again that's once you've learned the ropes."

Waverly handed him a list of names, each with brief biographies of his potential partners.

Solo gave it a quick perusal and realized they were all men; his eyes betrayed him.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. "Yes male partners for now," Waverly said. "We'll see how you manage your first year before I assign you a permanent partner who may or may not be a woman. Any questions Mr. Solo?"

"Yes Ma'am, is it too late to apply for a teaching position at Survival School?"


	12. He who laughs last

**The prompt:**

 **What If:** **Napoleon and Illya become so distracted by personal issues that they flub a mission.**

 **.**

As they peeked over the top of the dumpster, Napoleon and Illya realized they had blown their assignment...both literally and figuratively.

Each had bloody cuts on their foreheads, but were none the worse for wear. They'd both dove into the dumpster when debris came hurtling their way from the building they'd just blown up.

As the dust cleared they both spotted THRUSH agents pouring out from...the building across the street.

The UNCLE agents quickly ducked out of sight.

"Illya, what did you do?"

"What do you mean? I blew up the building as instructed."

"Then why we just see a flock of birds coming out a building across the street? Did you set the charges in the wrong one?"

" _Excuse me?"_ Illya hissed, keeping his voice low. "I set them at the address _you_ gave me and that was building 123."

"123? No it was 124, I'm positive."

"Napoleon, I know what you said and it was 123."

"I did?"

"Yes, proof that it was the wrong address was the THRUSH that rushed out of building 124. Something is wrong with you Napoleon, it is not like you to make such a mistake."

The American slumped, and though he was surrounded by stinky garbage, it didn't seem to bother him for once.

"I have to be honest tovarisch; I'm off my game."

"Why?"

"I've been a bit distracted," Napoleon hesitated."I think I might have gotten one of my lady friends pregnant."

" _What?"_ Illya blurted out, but quickly covered his mouth lest he be heard."How many times have you been warned to use a condom? Especially after your brush with …"

"Yeah, I know, a sexually transmitted disease. Hey, sometimes when the mood is right, well it's hard to fight it. Sometimes you're caught off guard and not ...ahem, prepared."

"Napoleon, you are a grown man; can you not exercise self control?"

"This coming from a man who eats like a dog and doesn't know when to stop?"

"Eats like a dog? You know full well that I have a very high metabolism and it must be kept fueled."

"Fueled? Do you call eating more than what two normal men would consume fueled? I call it gluttony."

Illya crossed his arms with a huff. Though he was stubborn enough to continue arguing, he realized there was no point in doing so; what was done was done."

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, until Napoleon finally spoke up.

"Well we still have to blow up the right building. Want to give it a go?"

"Now?"

"No time like the present. I'm sure all the birdies have fluttered away by now."

"Napoleon, I can not."

"Why?"

"Because I used all the explosives on...123."

"Well that explains why it blew to kingdom come. Was that really necessary?"

"No, not really, but like you, I was a bit distracted while setting the devices."

Napoleon grinned. "Ahh, so the shoe is on the other foot. And what pray tell had the mighty Illya Kuryakin so distracted that he screwed up with his explosives."

"I was hungry." As if on cue, Illya's stomach growled, quite loudly.

Solo pinched his nose as he shook his head.

"Well I guess we better head back to headquarters and explain to Mr. Waverly. We both need to change our clothes and...you need to eat."

Illya cringed. "He is not going to be happy."

"Hey, this is all my fault. I gave you the wrong address so I'll take the fall for it. The Old Man doesn't know how much explosives you bring with you for this kind of assignment."

"He will once he checks the reports from the armory that lists how much I was issued."

"Oh, yes, that's right isn't it?" Solo's communicator chirped.

"Solo here."

"Napoleon it's Allison."

He hesitated to respond." Hi how are you?"

"I figured you'd want to know right away...I'm not pregnant. I got my friend this afternoon."

"How do you feel about that?" He asked.

"Relieved, and you?"

"The same."

"Thanks Allison. I need to cut this short as I'm on an assignment. I'll talk to you when I get back to headquarters. Out."

"Well that solves your distraction." Kuryakin's stomach grumbled again.

"Let's head out and get that taken care of tovarisch."

As they rose in the dumpster, it was clear the area had been abandoned.

"Napoleon, I have a way that we might take care of 124."

"I'm listening."

"There is a container of petrol in the trunk of our car...we could use it to burn down the building."

"Sounds like a plan. I could tell the Old Man that the Thrushies had taken over both 123 and 124."

"That works for me." Illya winked.

"Let's go then," Napoleon hopped out of the dumpster, followed by his partner.

Illya picked up a sign that had been thrown to the ground by the explosion.

.

It said, " **CAUTION. THIS BUILDING IS UNSAFE AND IS SCHEDULED FOR DEMOLITION."**

The only thing Napoleon could do was to laugh...


End file.
